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”That is hardly a crime.” The half-elf turned his attention to the unappetizing gruel. “Welcome to Istar, Sir Knight.” *****
    Another day dawned. Arryl refused to take the sword Sylverlin handed to him. Sylverlin
     taunted, jeered, insulted him. The knight ignored him.
    Nelk watched in silence.
    Sylverlin shoved the knight a couple of times, but did him no harm. Tremaine wondered at
     Nelk's ploy. It would have been simple enough to execute the knight, but someone appeared
     to want more. Someone wanted Arryl to fight in the arena. He thought he understood. If he
     gave in, it would be as great a victory for his captor as if he HAD died in battle. It
     would mean that Gurim had broken the knight, could claim he was weak.
    Arryl had no intention of bowing to the will of the senior inquisitor.
    Eventually Nelk sent Sylverlin off to instruct some of the gladiators in the finer points
     of swordplay. The snakelike man was showing them how to PRETEND to strike an opponent.
     None of the veteran gladiators wanted to accidentally die or kill one of their comrades
     during tournament combat. The prisoners, of course, had no choice. They could only hope to
     survive long enough to either win their freedom or be offered a place in the tournament
     combats.
    “This will avail you naught, Solamnian,” said Nelk, glancing at the sword.
    “I will not fight. Execute me if you will, but I will not go against the Oath and the
     Measure by fighting for the pleasure of others.”
    Nelk laughed. “Do they teach such arrogance in the knighthood or is it something you were
     born with?” Arryl refused to respond. The elf stepped closer, his voice lowered. “You WILL
     fight in the Games, Knight! Listen to me! I had hoped you would not force me to this, but
     I want you to know that - ”
    “Nelk!” Sylverlin shouted. “Spectators!” With his blade, he pointed to their right.
    Brother Gurim was once again in the stands. The hood covered his unsightly features, but
     Arryl had now learned to look for the gloves. Brother Gurim gestured to Nelk.
    The maimed elf gave Arryl a long, intense look and whispered, “You may have lost your last
     chance, human fool!”
    Nelk and Sylverlin went over to talk with Brother Gurim. The two had barely departed when
     Fen Sun-brother and the boy, struggling beneath weaponry enough to arm a legion, joined
     the knight. Arms full, the boy smiled cautiously at Tremaine, who nodded in return.
    “What did the Cursed One want of you?” Fen asked. Arryl's brow knitted. “Cursed One?” "You
     don't know what 'Nelk' means in Elvish, do you?
    Never mind. Did he threaten to have you beaten?“ ”He said nothing of that, but I think
     something is going to happen soon.“ The half-elf shook his head. ”And you'll just let it happen to you! You'll take their punishment... or the axe if they decide you're not worth the
     time. Mark me, Tremaine. Brother Gurim has let you live this long for a reason. He has a
     reputation for playing games with his victims."
    “Is he really that bad?” the boy asked shyly. It was the first time Arryl had heard him
     talk. “But he's a cleric!”
    “Yes, he is,” Sunbrother snarled. “So?”
    “Do not frighten him unnecessarily,” the knight warned.
    “You there, BREED!” One of Sylverlin's trusted gladiators struck Fen on the side of the
     head. “The guards don't like quiet talk! Get movin'. Arack'll count all those swords
     before he lets you back out of the storeroom!”
    Fen Sunbrother staggered beneath the blow, grimaced, and moved on, his younger companion
     struggling to keep up. Tremaine thought over the half-elf's warning, but remained unmoved.
     He could and would continue to resist, despite whatever punishment Nelk or - more likely -
     Sylverlin decided to mete out.
    Arryl stared at the cleric, trying to will the man to meet his gaze. Not once, however,
     did Gurim glance at him. The inquisitor knew the knight was watching